


The Hourglass Reckoning

by Listless_Songbird



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Archives!Jon, Gen, Metaphors Made Real, Season 4 Spoilers, besides a rambling ficlet about the worst timeline and Jons revenge, feral jon, honestly I have no clue what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Listless_Songbird/pseuds/Listless_Songbird
Summary: In the end Jonah got what he wanted so desperately.Then, briefly, so did Jon.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 59





	The Hourglass Reckoning

Jon had been Looking much more often lately, and at something Elias couldn’t see. It was concerning, but at this point his Archivist was so absorbed in the Eye that hallucinations weren’t really a possibility so Elias let it be. 

That was until one day his Archivist was sitting at his feet as usual now. Safely tucked beneath Elias’s new desk with space enough for the small blanket nest that seemed to bring Jon comfort, when Jon suddenly stood and circled the chair until he was standing directly behind Elias. 

His hand was outstretched, seemingly frozen with indecision before Jon was reaching forwards again and reaching  _ into _ Elias. 

Now Elias– Jonah  _ Knew _ himself, knew his power, where it resided, where it shaped him, and that was where he could suddenly feel his heir, his prince, his  _ Archives _ reaching into . 

It was the compulsion of a question. It was the peace of fear. It was perfect. 

_ It was divine _

Jonah shuddered, his composure breaking as he suddenly leant forwards and gripped his desk, a gasp escaping. 

“Oh my darling martyr, what are you up to now?” The fondness leaked out, he couldn’t stop it if he tried not while Jon was so close, so connected, so enveloped in his self. 

It was a moment before Jon spoke and when he did Jonah was gratified to hear that he was breathless as well. 

“I think– I can see,  _ you _ . Unhidden. My Watcher.” There was a moment’s pause. “You’re monstrous. You’re everything. You bleed ink and ichor and you broke me and filled me with it until I can’t hate you, although I wish I could.” There was a movement, or an adjustment of something and Jonah let his head drop as his breathing ran ragged. Jon was still talking however so he marshaled his focus in time to hear 

“-and they’re beautiful. Made of paper feathers with eyes written on them in bleeding ink. Can you feel them?”

Another stroke and Jonah’s hands formed to fists as the lynchpin of control he had placed over his Archivist– his Archives slipped. 

Immediately, the gentle hands soothing what must be metaphysical feathers gripped handfuls of them tight as Jon’s breath caught. And he all but whispered,

“ _ You made me into this. I broke. You molded me. _ ” It wasn’t compulsion, well perhaps slightly to the left but Jon was gripping his mind, his soul and Jonah was helpless against it. 

“ _ Yes _ . Yes I did. I’ll do it again and again until there’s no fight left.” 

Jon yanked on the feathers the Jonah could feel now, Jon- and it was Jon now, not his Archivist. He felt when Jon pulled them from wherever they had rested before. 

“I. Am. Not. Yours.” Each word was punctuated with a yank. Tearing feathers out from the root. “You’ll have me. I know that, you made me know that. But not now.”

Jon seemed to reach deeper, through the feathers and flesh to the bone, and gripped it with both hands and  **snapped** , and Jonah fell like a broken puppet. Like the Dancer. Like the Distortion. Like the one man who stood against his god to be by his side and worshipped when they parted. He collapsed against the desk and in this moment he was truly helpless. Perhaps for the first time in centuries. 

Jon leaned in, pressing down against the bone, grinding it against each other and Jonah could feel the creep of rot being pushed into the hollow bone. “ _ How long do I have until I fall back to your feet? _ ”

And the question burned and ached and pulled and Jonah could barely think through the pain, but his answering had very little to do with him. 

“An hour, perhaps two. Less if someone comes in.” And just like that, all pressure vanished. The pain was still ever present, filling him completely and he couldn’t even lift his head but he could still hear Jon locking the office door. 

He returned to Jonah’s side, and then suddenly the world was spinning, falling, shifting, as Jon tipped him out of his chair and onto his back on the ground, further crushing his wing. 

Then without warning Jon was straddling him. Fury in his eyes and the power of all of the known fears and the ones not yet conceived building at his fingertips. 

“Then I can take my time. Tell me Watcher;  _ How fast do you think paper feathers will burn? _ ” 

There was  _ nothing _ he could do. There was nothing he could do to fight this. A bond this strong had to go both ways, and until now Jonah had merely relied on the obedience he had carved into Jon in his core. But now the rolls were reversed and he couldn’t not answer.

“Quickly.” He gasped out

**“Yes.”** Do you think you can withstand everything you’ve only Watched? Can you confront the scars you’ve given me?  _ Do you think you’ll survive the impossibilities you hoped to rule? _ ” 

No one was coming. No one was coming and he was going to die here. He breathed in and the fog of the Lonesome-Soul burned his throat leaving his voice rough as he helplessly answered a single word.

“No.”

Jon’s grin turned feral and fire began to lick at his fingertips. 

“ _ Let’s find out. _ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments feed the feral writer!


End file.
